Our boat sailed over the edge of the world

There wasn’t a giant waterfall spilling endlessly into space, if that’s what you’re wondering. Only a damn fool would think the Earth is flat. Besides, I figure we’d run out of water pretty fast that way. The things we’ve seen though — the things that seen us back — well if they belonged in this world, then humans wouldn’t. I guess it’s easier for me to tell myself I sailed right over the edge into some new place entirely than accept that those creatures are here with us.

Let’s get our facts straight first. I know a lot of folks use fishing as an excuse to get wasted where nobody’s around to judge them. They’re the people who see four hundred pounds of flabby porpoise and swear they were visited by the the fairest lady to ever trade her cooch for a tail. Not me. I’m stone-cold sober and proud of it. My buddy Jason — yeah he likes to knock back a few when we’re out on the water, but he’s not the one telling the story, so that doesn’t mean shit.

Meet the Iron Cucumber — our pride and joy. 22 foot cuddy cabin that we bought together for our fishing trips. Last weekend was supposed to be like any other; we had our cabin stocked with our gear, an ice chest full of deli meats and beverages, and minds keen on pretending the city life was just a recurring bad dream. During the week we both worked as financial analysts at a bank, but by Friday we’d have trouble hearing all that blather over the rising call of the wild.

“We’re basically werewolves,” Jason had said on one of our trips. “Everyone we know sees us in our suits all day and assumes that’s what we are. But that’s just because they’ve never seen us under a full moon.”

“So when the full moon comes you sit in a different chair and put a hat on?” I’d asked. “Hide yo’ children. This one’s feral.”

“Say that to that thrashing 160 pounder I wrestled to the ground.”

“160 pounds? Congratulations. To your wife for losing all that weight.”

Jokes aside, Jason is a man’s man. He’s got to be over 200lbs himself, but he’s 6’2”, and with his bristling beard and those tribal tattoos running up his forearms, I’ve got to admit he looks a lot more dangerous than I do. He’s a wizard at boating too — it was his idea to get the thing in the first place. He sniffs the wind and makes some crazy accurate guesses about the weather. Says he came from pirates on his father’s side, with gypsies on the maternal side. I know for a fact his family were potato farmers from Ireland, but I never told him so. Point is that I know he’s a lot of talk and bluster, but if we were going to war then I’d want him as my captain. I guess that’s why I never doubted him when he said:

“Something unnatural about the air tonight.”

Not as far as I could tell. There wasn’t any breeze, and everything smelled like salt and fish and BBQ potato chips to me. I still nodded sagely, staring off into the vastness of the black waters.

“Tastes like oil,” he said, spitting into the waves. “Like we’re inside a giant machine that’s turning all around us.”

“If you didn’t want to be a cog in a giant machine then you shouldn’t have gone into banking,” I said.

I expected a sarcastic quip back about how he ‘ain’t no tool’. It was unnerving to see him just staring off into the darkness, a slight shudder running down his massive frame.

“I suppose you’re right,” is all he said.

I don’t know if it was just his mood, but within an hour I thought I began to feel it too. It was almost like hearing the screeching metal of vehicles colliding on the TV, then muting it and watching the silent picture. Just seeing it was enough to clearly imagine the sound, even though it was perfectly quiet. Our conversation was falling flat, so I brought out a book to read to distract myself from the unsettling sensation.

“There weren’t any clouds when the sunset,” Jason said, still staring vacantly into space.

“That’s good, right? Clear sailing weather.”

“So where are all the stars?”

He was right. Almost 9 PM and pitch black without a single bead of light. This far from the city they should be spectacular.

“Maybe they moved in after the sunset?” I asked.

“With what wind?”

Quiet again. I shrugged and turned the page.

“If I had to die anywhere, I’d rather it be out here,” he said after a long pause.

“What the fuck, Jason?”

“Think about it,” he said. “Of all the ways you could go. Getting cancer and having your bedroom turned into a jail cell. Or Alzheimer’s and forgetting your family and even yourself. Maybe a nuclear holocaust. I’d rather it happen out in nature when I’m still my own master.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m here with you. Look Jason, that’s sweet and all but I don’t think I’m interested in a relationship…” my words trailed off in the heavy silence. Even that couldn’t lighten his mood. He sighed and dropped down to his sleeping bag on the floor. “You out already?”

“Yeah I don’t know what it is,” he said, climbing into the bag. “I’m just going to sleep it off. Things will be better in the morning. And if they’re not… well wake me before it happens.”

“Before what happens?” But he didn’t reply. I tried to put it out of my mind and keep reading, but I couldn’t keep my focus. After about 30 minutes of re-reading the same page I got so frustrated I threw the book straight over the side of the boat. It felt good. Sitting there in the stillness listening to the gentle waves and riding the rhythmic sway I started to calm down. For a moment anyway.

“There wasn’t a splash.”

“I thought you were asleep,” I said.

“When you threw your book overboard. I didn’t hear it hit the water.”

Shit, neither did I. And I should have, right? It was really really quiet out there. I got up and peered out where I’d thrown it. Blackness. I turned on my flashlight and scanned to see if it was still floating there.

“Jason — you’re going to want to see this.”

I turned around, but he was already on his feet. He joined me at the side, and together we stared out at the emptiness beyond.

“Jason?”

“Yeah I see it. I mean, I don’t see it, but I see it.”

“Yeah. Okay. Just making sure.”

The water was gone. The whole ocean. We were sailing on inky darkness — like a black gas which twisted and bubbled in nebulous designs. Deep within the cloud there was thousands of tiny pricks of light, almost like stars. Jason leapt to the controls.

“What are you doing?”

“Turning the boat around.”

“What’s the matter? I thought you were okay dying out here?” He just glared at me. I know it was in bad taste, but I was freaking out and humor is like a defense mechanism for me. Jason brought the engine to life, but it began immediately making such a horrendous noise — like a car throwing up — that he immediately killed it again.

“No water,” he grunted. “Can’t run without water.”

“At least we found our missing stars,” I said. I would have done a more convincing job of playing it cool if my voice hadn’t cracked in the middle.

“I don’t think those are stars.”

Back to the side of the boat — he was right. Of course he always had to be right. The lights were moving. Delicately but unmistakably moving, like fireflies drifting through a heavy mist. I watched transfixed as one began floating closer toward the boat.

“Catalina Harbor, this is the Iron Cucumber.” Jason was speaking into the radio, but I couldn’t turn away from the light.

Short static. “Catalina Harbor, this is a distress call. Repeat. This is a distress call.”

“Jason you need to see this.” He gave me a distracted wave. The light was about the size of a baseball now. I couldn’t tell how close it was, but it was clearly moving this way.

“Iron Cucumber, this is Catalina Harbor. Is your ship sinking?” Jason stared blankly at the receiver for a moment.

“Repeat —” the radio began.

“Yes we’re sinking. Please send help right away. We’re approximately 14 miles west of —”

“Jason!” I shouted. “It’s got a body!” I couldn’t tell what exactly. It was nothing but a silhouette, mostly concealed by the bright light which had grown to the size of a basketball.

“Please repeat. 14 miles west of —” the radio began.

“Never mind. We’re okay. Sorry about the confusion.” Jason switched the radio off.

“We are definitely not okay. What the hell?”

Jason gave a mad grin. “I’m not sending another human being into this. We wanted an adventure, right?”

“This is not an adventure. This is a bad trip. This is the end of the world — this is —”

“This is the call of the wild,” he said. He raised his head to the empty sky and let off a chilling wolf howl.

“Give me that radio — now!” I lunged for him, but he chucked it across the boat. I winced as it skidded along the floor, hoping to God it hadn’t broken. I sprinted after it.

“Times like these are when you find out what you’re made of,” Jason said. “How do you feel about going for a little swim?”

I reached the radio. It was still intact. I turned it back on and spun to see Jason leaning way out over the boat, his whole torso over the side.

“Catalina Harbor — this is the Iron Cucumber,” I shouted into the receiver. Then holding it against my chest: “Jason don’t you dare —”

“Look buddy,” the radio crackled, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but harassing an emergency line is a serious offense.”

“This is not a game. We are in immediate distress.”

“Iron Cucumber, is that right?”

“Yes sir. We’re located — Jason where the hell are we? Jason!”

Jason leaned a little farther, and then he was gone. He slipped straight through the black mist.

“The Iron Cucumber is still in the harbor. Spot 427, right between the Goliath and Sister Beetle,” the radio said.

“Excuse me?”

The radio went to static. I let it slide from my fingers and rattle to the ground. The place where Jason went over was so bright I could barely look at it. The light must have almost reached the boat, but I was too afraid to go to the edge and look.

“Jason?” I shouted. “Jason are you there?”

The light was beginning to recede. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I went to the edge to look down and —

Fingers gripped the railing. I’m not ashamed to say I shrieked and fell on my ass. A moment later, and Jason had climbed back on board. I didn’t have time to say anything. The second he had his footing, he slugged me across the face and I blacked out.

I woke up screaming.

“Chill dude, we’re almost back.” I was in my sleeping bag, and Jason was sitting next to me. I recoiled immediately, pressing myself against the wall of the boat. “You okay? I thought you had a stroke or something.”

“The water was gone. The lights —”

He laughed. “Man, what a relief. Just hold tight, okay? I’m going to get you to a hospital.”

“So you didn’t see anything weird out there?”

“Just you having a fit like a seizure or something in your sleep. You want a hand?”

“No, don’t touch me.”

“Okay man, you just rest. We’ll call the hospital as soon as we’re in cell range.”

I didn’t call the hospital when I got back though. I told him I was fine and made an excuse to get away. I called the Catalina Harbor instead. I asked them if they received a distressed radio call from the Iron Cucumber, and they said yes.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a fit. I’m not making this up.

So what the hell happened over the edge of the world?